


now and again

by angelicautowriting



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Gender-Neutral Pronouns for Kurapika (Hunter X Hunter), Kurta Culture, Language Barrier, Other, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-30
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 16:53:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24450124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelicautowriting/pseuds/angelicautowriting
Summary: "And isn’t that a thought: a Kurapika untouched by the all-consuming loss that’s defined them since before the two of them even met. Leorio feels overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of the person sitting across from him, swinging their legs back and forth as they finish their scrambled eggs."Leorio encounters someone he never thought he’d meet.
Relationships: Kurapika & Leorio Paladiknight, Kurapika/Leorio Paladiknight
Comments: 31
Kudos: 162





	1. one

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first fanfic and also first time writing fiction in maybe years? super open to feedback, especially on formatting/dialogue

Rolling over, Leorio is greeted by an unfamiliar face glaring at him from just beyond the edge of the bed. Wispy blonde bangs fall around dark eyes that watch him with no small amount of suspicion. Leorio blinks a few times, then squints back, still a little hazy this early in the morning.

“Pika? Why is there a kid in our bedroom,” he grumbles, letting his eyes fall shut again.

A beat passes, long enough for his half-asleep brain to process what he’s just said. Leorio is then catapulted into full awareness, jerking upright, eyes flying open to seek out the small intruder. The kid jumps back, arms coming up in a defensive position. It only takes another second for Leorio to realize he’s alone in bed, nothing but rumpled sheets on Kurapika’s side. Without breaking eye contact, he raises his voice to call out to the rest of their apartment.

“Kurapika, what’s going on? Who’s the kid?”

The second Kurapika’s name comes out of his mouth, the kid (who can’t be older than eleven or twelve) starts angrily chattering at him in something that is definitely _not_ the Hunter language. They gesture at Leorio and then the room at large, mouth twisted in displeasure.

 _It’s too damn early for this shit._ Leorio sighs and waves his hands around in what he hopes is a placating way.

“Hey, bud, I don’t know what’s going on, but I do know I’m gonna need some coffee before I find out. You hungry?”

The kid in question seems to evaluate Leorio before speaking again, this time in a language Leorio can actually understand.

“Hungry. Yes.”

The words have a peculiar inflection, measured and precise. Leorio briefly wonders where they could’ve grown up, to have an accent like that.

Yawning, Leorio heaves himself up out of bed. As he begins going through the motions of his morning routine, it becomes clear Kurapika isn’t anywhere in the apartment. The kid follows him out to the kitchen and silently watches him fiddle with the coffee maker. It seems as though Leorio has been deemed Not A Threat, but they’re still careful to remain out of reach as he walks back and forth, collecting items from various cabinets.

Leorio scans the kitchen for the kind of note Kurapika sometimes leaves if they have to go somewhere before Leorio wakes up. There’s nothing on the fridge, though, or anywhere on the counter. He sighs and sets a loaf of bread down next to the stove.

“Toast and eggs ok?”

The kid says nothing, eyes flicking between the gurgling coffee maker and the cardboard egg carton in Leorio’s hand, nervously pulling their long sleeves down to cover their hands. After their initial agitated outburst, it appears they’ve deflated a bit, more wary than angry. It sort of reminds Leorio of the way Kurapika sometimes withdraws into themselves while they’re weighing out their options, not yet committed to a particular course of action. He wonders how Kurapika would react to their unexpected guest.

Leorio makes the executive decision that toast and eggs are fine. He’ll figure out where Kurapika’s gone after they’ve both had some breakfast.

A few minutes later, they're seated across from one another at the kitchen table, plates arranged between them.

“So...”

Leorio’s not really sure where to start. He’s never woken up to a strange kid in his apartment before. He wants answers, but he also doesn’t want to make them more uncomfortable than they obviously already are. They seem to be gathering themselves to say something, so Leorio takes a sip from his mug and puts on his “paying attention” face.

“How do you know my name?” they demand, each word carefully enunciated.

“I... don’t?”

“No! You said before. ‘Kurapika,’ eche eche eche.”

They wiggle their hand in a way that Leorio takes as the equivalent to _blah blah blah._ The influx of caffeine is helping him wake up, but it isn’t helping him understand what the kid’s getting at at all.

Then, suddenly, the hair and eyes and training suit snap into focus. Leorio almost chokes on his coffee.


	2. two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> re: place names I have no idea where lukso actually is so let's pretend it's between the kakin empire and the federation of ochima, which is conveniently pretty far from where the rest of the series takes place

After a somewhat stilted back and forth, it’s clear that this is a younger version of the Kurapika Leorio knows, not just Kurapika in a younger body. Most likely from the same timeline? It's hard to tell, and Leorio doesn't know what he thinks about the whole multiverse thing anyway.

 _They're about the same age as Gon and Killua when the four of us first met,_ Leorio thinks. _Before the massacre that happened- will happen? when they’re twelve._ And isn’t that a thought: a Kurapika untouched by the all-consuming loss that’s defined them since before the two of them even met. Leorio feels overwhelmed by the sheer impossibility of the person sitting across from him, swinging their legs back and forth as they finish their scrambled eggs.

At the same time, he feels hyper-attuned to the void where _his_ Kurapika should be, the empty space practically a third person in the room. Especially since it’s looking less like they had to run out on an unexpected errand and more like they might not be in this present-time at all. There’s a sharp pang in Leorio’s chest when he thinks about how it feels like they can take on anything when they're together. Like time-traveling versions of their own past selves. At this point, Leorio might as well admit that he finds the presence of this version of his partner to be absolutely terrifying. Does he need to be worried about fucking up the timeline? How long will they stay in this time? What is he supposed to-

Kid Pika (as Leorio has taken to calling them in his head) interrupts Leorio’s spiraling.

“So I live here? With you?”

They speak with the easy acceptance of the fantastic that seems innate to children. Of course they’re in their future home, eating breakfast with someone they won’t meet for years. Abruptly dropped into a time and place that doesn't belong to them quite yet, without knowing _why_ or _how_ or _for how long?_ All things considered, Kid Pika is handling this much better than Leorio. They look around the apartment with renewed interest, zeroing in on the picture frames clustered on the far wall.

“We must be very close.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Leorio isn’t sure exactly how much to divulge, wondering if they’ve noticed that even though there are two bedrooms, they still woke up in the same bed as Leorio, and all the implications of that. _Would knowing more about our relationship freak them out? Would it make them uncomfortable? Do_ I _make them uncomfortable? Am I disappointing to them?_ He isn’t sure he wants to hear the answer to that. Rejection from any version of Kurapika is something he’d like to avoid as much as possible, thank you very much. Unintentionally cruel eleven-year-old ones in particular. Better to gloss over the complexities of their current relationship for the time being, he decides.

“Like Pairo! Pairo and I are,” and then a word Leorio doesn’t recognize.

“What was that?”

“I do not know what is the word in this language... They are your most precious person? But also equal. Not like parent and child. You depend on each other.”

Leorio isn’t sure if Kid Pika is describing a romantic relationship as seen from their own preteen perspective or something else entirely.

“Where is Pairo now?” Kid Pika’s head swivels away from the far wall to face Leorio directly again. “Are we no longer close?”

Leorio pales. He’s so stupid for not immediately realizing the inevitability of questions like this.

“Pairo is still very precious to you,” he starts, borrowing their phrasing. “But you haven’t been able to see anyone from your clan in a long time.”

 _There, that wasn’t exactly a lie, was it?_ Leorio’s discomfort must be obvious, because Kid Pika holds their hand up to stop him from continuing.

“Maybe in your future, but I will make sure that never happens in mine! Pairo and I will stay together always.”

Leorio rests his chin in his hand to hide his smile, leaning into his elbow propped against the table. _They’re so sure of themselves. Even as a child, Kurapika was so stupidly stubborn, huh,_ he thinks wistfully. _Always the master of their own destiny._ It was also an incredible relief to be (at least temporarily) freed from the burden of trying to tell his most precious person that everyone they know and love was now dead.

Kid Pika seems to have moved on already. “So this must be the outside world then...” they trail off, muttering to themselves in the language Leorio still can’t parse. He notices their eyes dart towards the window over the sink, where the slowly brightening sky is visible. “Are we closer to Kakin, then? Or Ochima?”

“Um, well, we’re actually pretty far from Lukso Province altogether.”

Grey eyes narrow. “How far?”

“I’m not sure, maybe XXXXX kilometers? It would take a couple days to travel there by airship.”

Kid Pika appears to be processing this, face blank. Something must finally sink in, because a delighted, unguarded laugh rings through the kitchen and Leorio is suddenly experiencing something firsthand that he’s only heard the echo of before, not having realized that the laugh that’s so familiar to him used to sound like _this._

“That’s incredible!”

This time, Leorio doesn’t bother to hide his grin, even though it feels bittersweet. “It really is, isn’t it.”


	3. three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you guys were so nice about my first foray into writing, thank you so much for all the encouragement. i love being positively reinforced!!!
> 
> i suppose this takes place after the chairman's election arc, but i have no idea how much after (i've only seen the 2011 anime) so i've just avoided adding too many specifics re: current ages/life situations? also have yet to figure out how to put baby pika back/return adult kurapika but i'm working on it (-。－；)

Leorio gathers the dishes from their breakfast while keeping tabs on Kid Pika out of the corner of his eye. They’ve hopped up from the table and wandered into the main living space, inexorably drawn to the wall of framed photographs. They inspect each image in turn, saying nothing. He wonders what they make of the gallery of mostly-smiling faces, if there’s any sense of familiarity at all among the sea of what must essentially be strangers. Leorio can’t see their face from where he’s standing, and nothing about their posture gives away what might be going through their mind. 

_What would it be like, to see an older version of your face smirking back at you from a photograph you haven’t even posed for yet? Will that picture still be taken in Kid Pika’s future, now that they’ve already seen it? If it isn't, will the one on the wall here disappear?_ Leorio takes a deep breath and tries to focus on one existential crisis at a time. 

By the time he’s finished washing up, Kid Pika has moved on to the bookshelf across the room. Leorio dries his hands and walks over to where they’re crouched down, tracing the titles of Leorio’s old medical texts. As he gets closer, he realizes they’re mouthing each syllable under their breath, slowly sounding out the Hunter characters.

It’s somehow surprising, this palpable reminder that Kurapika’s fluency in their shared language is hard-won. Unlike Leorio, who grew up with the Hunter language everywhere around him, street signs and newspapers and store awnings, it’s always been something foreign to them, something that belonged to the world beyond their clan. _How much of Kurapika's weirdly formal way of speaking comes from their personality, and how much is it the product of being self-taught from whatever reading material they could get their hands on?_

“Why so many books about bodies?” a voice pipes up from the floor.

“Uh, I’m studying to be a doctor.”

Kid Pika looks up sharply. "What kind of doctor?"

"I haven't officially declared a specialty, but I'm mostly looking into becoming a pediatrician or family practice physician," Leorio explains, keeping quiet about the additional concentration in nen-based injuries, acquired mostly via field experience.

Their nose scrunches up. "Pedi...? Feet? Foot doctor?"

"Ah, no," Leorio rushes to clarify. "A doctor for people under eighteen, usually."

There's a glint in Kid Pika's eye that instantly puts Leorio on high alert. He holds his hands up, like he can staunch the flow of their burgeoning hope before they bleed out. 

"I know about Pairo's condition. We've talked about it before. From what I understand, it was degenerative. It's not the kind of thing that can be reversed." _It's not your fault. Nothing could be done. Please don't carry this guilt with you for the rest of your life._

Their face turns to stone, eyes darkening. "Are you telling me to give up on helping Pairo?"

Leorio wants to kick himself. "No! No, of course n-"

"Then what, exactly, are you saying?" Leorio never thought he’d encounter another child as quietly menacing as the only-recently-ex-assassin Killua circa his first Exam.

"I just... We've known one another for years, in this time, yeah? And I don't think you've ever forgiven yourself for not finding a cure. You're really, really hard on yourself about it." _Among other things_. "But it's not your fault. You did everything you could, Pairo's recovery would've taken a miracle." A shrunken, bandaged figure lying in a too-big hospital bed flashes across Leorio's mind and is dismissed as quickly as possible.

Kid Pika tilts their head so their bangs fall over their face, obscuring their eyes. "I still have to try," comes the quiet response. "You said your Kurapika did everything they could. How do I know it will be the same for my Pairo if I do not also try everything? I cannot act as though your future is inevitable."

Leorio lets his shoulders sag, held breath finally escaping. _Of course they have to choose their own path. Taking away that choice, that_ _hope, is unfair, even if I’m just trying to protect them. This Kurapika deserves the chance to live their own life, without being weighed down by something that may or may not happen._

"You're right. God, you always are, I don't know why I thought younger-you would be any different." Kid Pika looks up, startled. "And I've never been able to talk you out of whatever bullheaded thing you've decided on, anyway. Why that would change now, I have no idea," he huffs. 

_And if you don’t leave to look for a doctor, you’ll be there when the Phantom Troupe shows up._ Leorio can’t saddle eleven-year-old Kurapika with the responsibility of the lives of everyone in their clan. What if whatever he says to Kid Pika, in the hopes of avoiding the massacre, only ends with their death along with that of the rest of their people? _I can't risk it._ What would Kurapika want him to do? _Probably something reckless that would endanger themselves and/or the time-space continuum. Goddamnit._

The somber mood hanging over the room dissipates as Kid Pika cracks a smile, pleased with Leorio's concession. "You better not forget it!"


	4. four

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i think about how lonely it would be, being only living witness to your culture 
> 
> i definitely don't read kurapika as cis but also i imagine that the kurta language wouldn't denote gender in the same way the hunter language/english/japanese does, which is why kurapika uses they/them pronouns (pairo does too, if you read carefully) plus it definitely helps with the pronoun problem lmao
> 
> trying something more dialogue-heavy with this chapter?

Kid Pika has Leorio’s messenger bag in their lap.

“This is yours?”

Leorio nods. Kurapika had given it to him a while back, after his precious briefcase finally bit the dust. He has to admit, the shoulder strap is very convenient. 

Their voice is studiously casual. “Who made it?”

Kid Pika’s forced nonchalance brings to mind when Kurapika had originally presented the bag to Leorio, saying he would need something new for his medical supplies and that they hoped this would be sufficient, refusing to make eye contact as they held it out to him. Although similar in style to the bag Leorio remembers them carrying during the Hunter Exam, this one is decorated with the distinctive embroidery characteristic of most of Kurapika’s traditional clothes. At the time, Leorio secretly thrilled in the fact that he was allowed such visible proof of his association with Kurapika.

“You made it,” Leorio replies, wondering if Kid Pika can hear the unspoken _of course_ tacked on at the end.

Their fingers skim the even stitching that loops across the front panel, like they had run their finger along the spines of the books earlier. “You can read Kurta?”

The question seems like a non-sequitur. He realizes he's not even sure what the Kurta writing system looks like. “No, why?”

“I just read it to you, then?”

“Read what?” Leorio feels as though they’re having two different conversations.

“This!” Kid Pika shakes the bag lightly. “How else would you know what it says?”

It’s at this point that Leorio comes to the belated conclusion that maybe the embroidery isn’t only decorative. “...It says something?”

“Did you not know?” Kid Pika giggles. _Giggles._

“You never said anything like that! How else was I supposed to know?” Leorio demands, cheeks heating up. This little punk. Leorio is definitely going to have words with Kurapika later.

“Maybe I was shy. This type of gift is very,” Kid Pika pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Special?” They look down and stroke the surface again. “It is a... I think you might call it, talisman? For good health while traveling and safely finding your way home.”

They point to a specific set of interlocking forms. “To remind you your family is always with you.” A finger traces the swirling pattern that makes up the outside border. “See, here’s my name. Also, ‘Gon,’ and ‘Killua,’ and ‘Pietro’...” Kid Pika’s eyes crinkle. “Here it asks the ancestors to keep you from doing anything too foolish.”

“Hey,” Leorio reproaches. “I’ll have you know, even your ancestors wouldn’t be able to stop me from doing whatever dumb thing I’m gonna do once I’ve set my mind to it.”

“Of course not,” they agree, biting back a grin. “Our mutual obstinacy must balance out somewhere.” 

_Mutual obstinacy,_ Leorio thinks fondly. _Where does this kid even get off, using words like that?_

Kurapika’s bag, hanging by the door, catches his eye. “Why doesn’t your bag have anything on it?” 

“It is not the kind of thing you would do for yourself. The strength comes from the care of the person who made it for you.” Kid Pika seems distracted, cradling the bag closer to their chest. 

Leorio imagines Kurapika hand-sewing each section, knowing Leorio won’t fully appreciate the gift they’re giving him, that he won’t know how to reciprocate in kind. Putting in all this effort to make it for him anyway. _Damn it, Kurapika._

He leans over and pokes Kid Pika in the side. “Oi, do you think you could help me make something I could put on your bag? Since we’ve already established I can’t recognize Kurta to save my life.” 

Leorio feels enormously gratified when Kid Pika lets out a small laugh. “I am not sure it counts as another person making it for other-me if you get me-me to do all the work.” 

“Excuse you,” Leorio puffs out his chest in mock indignation. “I’ll be doing most of it! I just need a little help in the design department, that’s all.” 

Kid Pika rolls their eyes at him, but doesn’t turn in time to hide the smile stealing across their face. “I suppose I could help with the translation,” they deign to offer. “Have you ever even sewn before?” 

“I put stitches in _human beings_ , I’m sure the general concept is the same.” 

The general concept is not, in fact, the same. 

“You have to make the needle come out closer to where it went under.” Kid Pika is leaning over his shoulder, critically eyeing his progress along the stencil they had marked out together. 

“I’m trying, I’m trying.”

While Leorio can patch up patients just fine, and even the occasional sock, the finer details of the art of embroidery continue to elude him. He holds up the piece of fabric he’s been practicing on. “It feels like I’ve been doing this for ages and there’s only like three centimeters here!” 

“It’s closer to two,” Kid Pika corrects matter-of-factly.


	5. five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> p pleased with how this came together but i'm not sure if it like, emotionally makes sense to anyone who doesn't live in my brain?
> 
> how do flashbacks work in a story with time travel/what are verb tenses even - pls let me know if it's super confusing 
> 
> also yes have given up on explicit continuity between chapters, we're calling them "vignettes" now

When Kid Pika returns from the bathroom, Leorio notices they’ve got Kurapika’s brush clasped in their hand, identifiable by a few blonde hairs still clinging to the bristles. They walk right up to where he’s sitting on the couch and hold it out. 

“Will you braid my hair?” 

Sometimes, Kid Pika seems like the Kurapika he knows in miniature- a little shorter, a little quicker to laugh, exactly the same dry sense of humor. Other times, it’s like talking to a completely different person. This moment is decidedly the latter. 

Leorio has played with Kurapika’s hair as long as they’ve allowed it. _Maybe a tad longer_ , he admits, thinking of the times they’d fallen asleep on his shoulder on the couch, or when he’d kept vigil at their bedside while they were feverish. They’d lean into the touch until they realized what they were doing and jerk themselves back, curling inward, away from Leorio’s hand.

Leorio knows Kurapika has a hard time accepting affection. He knows it’s probably a trauma response, linked with the immensity of the survivor’s guilt they carry with them and their fear of vulnerability, of attachment. (Of rejection?) It’s one thing to probably know something, though, and another to see such obvious proof of it standing in front of you, arm outstretched.

“Yeah, of course.” Leorio motions to the space in front of the couch, dropping a pillow between his feet. “Did you grab any hair ties?” 

Kid Pika hands over the brush, elastic wrapped around the handle, and plops onto the cushion in front of him. 

Kurapika’s semi-nightly ritual of braiding their hair had been a point of fascination for Leorio when they’d started living together. Watching them gather all the short feathery layers and weave them into a single plait at the back of their head had felt like being allowed in on a secret. No one else got to see this private Kurapika, hair pulled back, expression soft and exposed.

A few months ago, as they were getting ready for bed, Leorio had made an offhand remark.

“I could do that for you, you know,” gesturing to the half-finished hairstyle.

“There’s no need, I can do it perfectly well on my own,” they had dismissed, skittering across the apartment and into the bathroom, door firmly shut before Leorio could even open his mouth in protest. 

He lets some time pass before bringing it up again. “Ok, how about I _want_ to do this for you,” he had proposed, brandishing the brush pulled from Kurapika’s slack grip for added emphasis.

“I told you before, it’s unnecessary. I am capable of braiding my hair myself,” they bit back, deftly tugging the brush out of Leorio’s hand. 

“It’s not a question of capability. I know you can, I still want to.” 

Kurapika had muttered something about not always butting into things that didn’t concern him and gone to bed early. The next evening, however, Leorio found them curled up in front of the couch, feet tucked neatly beneath them while reading some paperback, brush resting on the coffee table beside them. He hadn’t said anything, simply picked it up and settled behind where Kurapika had stationed themselves. Even now, Leorio can vividly recall the sense-memory of gently running his fingers along Kurapika’s scalp while preparing to brush out their hair for the first time, the trust of their implicit permission buzzing beneath his skin.

The crown of Kid Pika’s head comes up a little lower than where Leorio’s used to, but he’s still able to gather the silky strands and start working the snarls out of the ends.

It had become a routine of sorts, the presence of Kurapika’s brush serving as a silent invitation. Sometimes the brush didn’t make an appearance for a week or two at a time, typically coinciding with periods where Leorio’s workload was more unmanageable than usual, or when Kurapika’s nightmares took a turn for the worse. But whenever it was there, Leorio would be sure to make the time for what had become this unspoken _thing_ between them. 

But he’s almost one hundred percent certain they’ve never actually verbalized their desire to him. Come to think of it, Leorio can’t remember a single time Kurapika has outright asked to be taken care of in this way, or in any way that wasn’t a medical necessity, really.

Once Kid Pika’s hair is completely detangled, Leorio’s fingers start sectioning it, automatically falling into the soothing muscle memory of dozens of evenings like this one. He doesn’t realize he’d started humming mindlessly until he notices a second voice alongside his own.

“Why did you stop?” Kid Pika twists around, trying to get a look at Leorio’s face.

“Hey, stop that, you’re messing it up.” He tries to subtly nudge them into facing forwards again.

“Did I make you self-conscious? That was not my intention,” they protest, allowing themselves to be prodded back into their original position. 

“I guess I was just surprised, that’s all. Do you know the song? It’s been stuck in my head, but I can’t remember where it’s from.”

Kid Pika shoots Leorio an unimpressed look, and he lightly pulls at the half-formed braid in retaliation. “I know it! I would think all children do.” 

They switch from humming to chanting softly in Kurta, voice rhythmic and sing-song, putting words to the melody that’s been playing on endless repeat in the background of Leorio’s thoughts. He doesn’t know what the words mean, but knowing there are words at all give it a sense of tangibility he hadn’t realized had been lacking.


	6. one, again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's crazy to realize that if i don't want to write a certain part... i can just not write it?? i.e. don't expect any clever explanations for time travel (´へ｀; heh
> 
> this last chapter is actually meant to mirror itself/previous chapters, but i'm not sure how clearly that came through. anyway, learning other people's love languages! yes! good.  
> .  
> .

Rolling over, Leorio almost falls off the edge of the couch. He lets out an undignified yelp, limbs flailing, before falling back onto something warm and a little boney. 

"Good morning to you too," comes a teasing voice. "Finally decided to rejoin the land of the living?"

Leorio can hear how their smile pulls at the edge of the greeting. He drowsily wraps his arms around Kurapika's middle, and burrows his face into their lap.

"Pika? Why are we sleeping on the couch?"

They laugh softly. Somehow, it sounds different than he expects.

"You know, I think I should be the one asking you that."

Coffee has allowed his pre-caffeine brain to rot, really and truly. He should look into doing something about his dependence on that stuff. If confronted about the perhaps excessive time it takes his brain to put everything together, that's what Leorio would say.

"You're back!" He throws himself upright, voice extra loud now that it's no longer muffled by several layers of fabric and Kurapika's legs. 

"I'm back," they confirm.

"How? What happened? Where were you? Thank god. Don't you dare pull that shit again, understand? Or at least give a guy some warning next time!" 

Kurapika raises a single eyebrow, waiting until Leorio has to pause for breath. "I think this is a conversation that would go better over coffee, don't you?"

Leorio _knew_ there was a reason he loved them. 

Later, Kurapika is standing at the sink, gently swaying as they work their way through the accumulated dishes. They start humming a song Leorio now associates with _home,_ and he leans back against the counter next to them so he can see their face.

"Why don't you sing the words?" he asks.

Kurapika pauses, in both the washing and the humming. 

"I suppose... I don't feel the need to. I know how it goes, what memories it holds. I don't need the words to remember."

A pair of mugs are rinsed, and put to the side.

Leorio considers this, playing with the cuff of his sleep shirt. "It was nice, to hear Kid Pika sing it. Though they seemed personally offended that I didn't know any of the lyrics." 

Kurapika grins. "Well, it is fairly culturally illiterate you, I must say. Even young children can sing the chorus."

They duck their face into their shoulder, still smiling, when Leorio reaches over and flicks dishwater at them.

* * *

Leorio sighs, assessing that afternoon’s progress. It's a good thing he'd asked Kid Pika to sketch out the embroidered design on a spare scrap of canvas, because it means he can keep working on it in secret whenever the opportunity presents itself. Which, to be honest, isn't all that often. _Slow and steady or whatever, right?_

The canvas is folded up and returned to its box at the very back of the hall closet, which is a black hole where things in their apartment go to die. In other words, it's the perfect hiding spot. 

So, naturally, a few days later Leorio comes home to find Kurapika kneeling in the middle of the hallway, the entire contents of the closet piled haphazardly around them. They glance up when they hear the door open, and the first thing Leorio notices is how their eyes have already sunk halfway towards a rich burgundy. The second thing he notices is a very familiar piece of fabric laid across their lap. He freezes, hand still on the doorknob.

"Is this... Did you?" Kurapika's tone is tight.

"Uh," Leorio replies eloquently, easing into the apartment and slowly sliding the door shut behind him. He _knows_ that scarlet eyes don't always mean anger, but he can't read Kurapika's reaction and it's making him nervous.

"I was looking for those old emergency flashlights, the set Melody asked about, but..." Kurapika gestures at Leorio's handiwork. "How did you?" 

Leorio isn't quite sure what they’re asking, but it doesn’t seem like further clarification is coming.

"Kid Pika helped me," he admits, hoping that covers most of his bases.

Something passes through Kurapika's eyes, there and gone before Leorio can name it, and their gaze drops back down to trace the unfinished design.

”I told myself I’d accepted that one would never be made for me again," they say in the smallest voice Leorio's ever heard them use, curling their shoulders around themselves defensively. "And then, just when I thought, maybe... it turns out my _own past self_ made it." Kurapika barks out a bitter laugh. "Of course. It doesn't work that way, you know? Or rather, I guess you don't."

It appears that the black hole escaped the closet only to resettle in Kurapika's chest, given the way they collapse in on themselves. Leorio feels the inexorable pull of its gravity, unable to stay away from a Kurapika in need of comfort. He picks his way over the detritus scattered along the floor of the hall ( _how did this all fit in the closet?_ ), clearing a space so he can sit down beside them. 

"That's pretty much what they said too, yeah," Leorio says, dropping to the floor.

Frowning balefully, Kurapika asks, “Then why did you let them do it?" 

"Ok, first off, when have I ever been able to stop you from doing anything you really wanted to do, hmm?" This must be the most literal experience of deja vu Leorio has ever had in his life. 

Kurapika rolls their eyes at this, mumbling, "They were _eleven,_ " followed by a word Leorio doesn't understand but is definitely something rude.

The corner of his mouth ticks up.

"And secondly, I can't believe I get zero credit in this. That's so typical. I mean, I learned to embroider for you! And the eleven year old still gets all the glory!"

"You-" Kurapika's head raises a little off their knees. "You sewed this?" They gesture with the canvas clutched in their fist.

"I'll have you know, I already knew how to sew. Apparently, sewing and embroidery are very different, and the skills don't carry over as well as you might think! All Kid Pika did was translate and make fun of my suffering. They're very like you, in that way. Anyway, I told them what I wanted it to say, and they wrote it down for me. So it's mine. From me. I made it for you," Leorio finishes awkwardly. 

Kurapika's eyes are the most saturated shade of red he's ever seen, and this time Leorio is absolutely certain it doesn’t signal anger.

"Leo-" is all they manage before being cut off.

"Speaking of which, Kid Pika told me what you put on my bag. You thought you were being sly, huh?" Leorio interrupts, because he's not good at having Moments. “ _I_ am not the one who needs to be kept from doing foolish things, here. I'm the paragon of responsibility in this household!”

Kurapika bites their bottom lip, looking down, and even now their voice sounds like it's coming from far away. "You weren't supposed to be able to read it."

Leorio can tell they’re still feeling shaken when they don’t even attempt to snark back, despite the easy target he’s given them.

"And that's somehow supposed to make it better?" he demands, arms thrown up in the air.

Kurapika's voice is still subdued, but not quite as small as before. "Thank you, Leorio." 

* * *

Leorio is hunched over an anatomy textbook when he feels Kurapika come up behind him. 

They clear their throat. "Leorio," they begin, stepping closer.

He can see them fidgeting out of his peripheral vision.

"When you have a moment, would you do my hair?" 

Leorio almost gives himself whiplash, the way he turns to look up at them. Kurapika isn’t quite making eye contact, but they’re not pretending the rug is suddenly the most interesting thing they’ve ever seen, either. 

Leorio shakes himself, trying to sound as normal as possible. "Yeah, I'd love to.”

Beyond their unusual starting poses, the two of them dance through the rest of their regular routine without much deviation. Leorio lets long strokes of the brush match the rhythm of the tune he hums, one that's probably been burned into his memory at this point. As tousled hair steadily transforms into a single, even braid under his fingers, Leorio is reminded how satisfying it is to be trusted to be close to Kurapika in this way. How it was even better, knowing it was important to Kurapika, too.

This time, when another voice layers over Leorio's, singing softly, he doesn't stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in a very not fleshed out way, i imagine that kurapika got sent back in time to wherever leorio is at the equivalent age- i'm not here to ~change the past~ i just want characters to have new perspectives on each other. maybe this will be the next thing i'll try to write?
> 
> still going back and fixing things/making small changes, shoutout to [smithpepper](https://archiveofourown.org/users/smithpepper) in particular for helping edit!
> 
> if you made it this far, i'm incredibly grateful for your support. writing this/knowing people have actually read it has been such a bright spot for me lately
> 
> (*ˊᗜˋ*)/ᵗᑋᵃᐢᵏ ᵞᵒᵘ*


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